I have never been a huge fan of San Francisco.
Now, before you bite my head off, I have a confession to make: after today, I think that that San Fran has actually wheedled its way to a higher place in my estimation. [Don't worry Seattle, the Fog City will never replace you in my heart].
Maybe the reason San Francisco doesn't seem quite as bad after all is that today reminded me, just a tad, of being in Istanbul. I guess that maybe I'm just missing living in a big city -- observing and being part of the hodgepodge of grit and glitter, the interdependence of comings and goings, the coexisting entrepreneur spirit and dark desperation in an eclectic group of people thrown together in an idiosyncratic place. Anyways, there's a lot about Istanbul to miss.
But back to San Francisco. How could I not be won over, even just a little, by display cases of plastic sushi and kitschy trainer-chopsticks, or bookshops of used cookbooks and hip new fiction picks all crammed side by side like tea biscuits just waiting to be bitten into? How could I not but be delighted by the sheer variety of tapiocas and rice and noodles and unidentifiables on the shelves in a lively Asian market, or by the standout façades of Edwardian-era San Franciscan homes as we walked briskly along the sidewalks in the chilly fog?
No offense to Ghirardelli Square, but I would much rather (as we did today) wander around in ridiculous junk shops, or get distracted by beautiful book spines and autobiographies of women from Tsarist Russia, or nibble at gooey green-tea-flavored red-bean mochi, or meander around an area where people have a hard time speaking English, than spend all my time in a place where the offbeat beautiful has been stamped out by the tourist industry. Hence why I found it so special this afternoon to see San Francisco in a snapshot of what our hostess adores about her city...the quintessential eats, quirky treats, and daily activity, mundane and otherwise, of one particular neighborhood.
I was most thrilled when our hostess took us to one of her favorite haunts, a mini market of Middle Eastern and European foods -- shelves of tea and preserves, candy with Arabic on the wrappers, trays of baklava, bowls of hummus and feta cheese in a refrigerated glass case. I thought of the spice bazaar in Istanbul, all the heaps of dried fruit and lokum and the bustling activity and vociferous vendors...and my heart ached to be back there. We bought pita bread and pistachio halva and manti (a Turkish meat-filled mini pillow tortellini of sorts, to be served with yogurt), and I must have appeared very enthusiastic about everything because the Guatemalan clerk handed me a piece of rosewater Turkish delight for me to enjoy as I wandered around trying to find everything with Turkish labels.
Even after we'd left the shop my thoughts stayed with Istanbul, but I was grateful -- grateful, in particular, that our hostess knew what it's like to miss a city you love, and that she'd brought us to a place that felt almost familiar to me.
I'll hand it to you, San Francisco, today was an unexpectedly delightful foray into the recognizable and relatable, the outrageous and outré...a brief but hearty savoring of memories and familiar flavors, but also a chance to find my own impressions of offbeat beauty in you.
Now, before you bite my head off, I have a confession to make: after today, I think that that San Fran has actually wheedled its way to a higher place in my estimation. [Don't worry Seattle, the Fog City will never replace you in my heart].
Maybe the reason San Francisco doesn't seem quite as bad after all is that today reminded me, just a tad, of being in Istanbul. I guess that maybe I'm just missing living in a big city -- observing and being part of the hodgepodge of grit and glitter, the interdependence of comings and goings, the coexisting entrepreneur spirit and dark desperation in an eclectic group of people thrown together in an idiosyncratic place. Anyways, there's a lot about Istanbul to miss.
But back to San Francisco. How could I not be won over, even just a little, by display cases of plastic sushi and kitschy trainer-chopsticks, or bookshops of used cookbooks and hip new fiction picks all crammed side by side like tea biscuits just waiting to be bitten into? How could I not but be delighted by the sheer variety of tapiocas and rice and noodles and unidentifiables on the shelves in a lively Asian market, or by the standout façades of Edwardian-era San Franciscan homes as we walked briskly along the sidewalks in the chilly fog?
No offense to Ghirardelli Square, but I would much rather (as we did today) wander around in ridiculous junk shops, or get distracted by beautiful book spines and autobiographies of women from Tsarist Russia, or nibble at gooey green-tea-flavored red-bean mochi, or meander around an area where people have a hard time speaking English, than spend all my time in a place where the offbeat beautiful has been stamped out by the tourist industry. Hence why I found it so special this afternoon to see San Francisco in a snapshot of what our hostess adores about her city...the quintessential eats, quirky treats, and daily activity, mundane and otherwise, of one particular neighborhood.
I was most thrilled when our hostess took us to one of her favorite haunts, a mini market of Middle Eastern and European foods -- shelves of tea and preserves, candy with Arabic on the wrappers, trays of baklava, bowls of hummus and feta cheese in a refrigerated glass case. I thought of the spice bazaar in Istanbul, all the heaps of dried fruit and lokum and the bustling activity and vociferous vendors...and my heart ached to be back there. We bought pita bread and pistachio halva and manti (a Turkish meat-filled mini pillow tortellini of sorts, to be served with yogurt), and I must have appeared very enthusiastic about everything because the Guatemalan clerk handed me a piece of rosewater Turkish delight for me to enjoy as I wandered around trying to find everything with Turkish labels.
Even after we'd left the shop my thoughts stayed with Istanbul, but I was grateful -- grateful, in particular, that our hostess knew what it's like to miss a city you love, and that she'd brought us to a place that felt almost familiar to me.
I'll hand it to you, San Francisco, today was an unexpectedly delightful foray into the recognizable and relatable, the outrageous and outré...a brief but hearty savoring of memories and familiar flavors, but also a chance to find my own impressions of offbeat beauty in you.
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